The True Meaning of Beauty
by It's Just That
Summary: [AU] HPTMR. Harry is born in a town where ugly means beautiful and beautiful...well, means ugly! What's a normal boy like him to do when he gets shipped off to Hogwarts where everything he's learned is redefined? And marriage? Yes! Of course he'd get married to the most 'beautiful' being in the whole of England!
1. Prologue: Nine Years Ago

**DISCLAIMER: Uh. Sorry, nope. Don't own it. ;D If you've played Aveyond, you'll see a lot of similarities. ^_^ I don't own Aveyond either, though it did give me a smashing idea for this story!**

**Pairing: HPxTMR**

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**Prologue: Nine Years Ago**

Down four houses in Privet Village, you'll see the most grotesque and horrifyingly normal family in existence: _the Dursleys_. They were the epitome of terrible people that somehow fit into the square of normality that witches nowadays fell into: _extreme hideousness_.

Petunia Dursley had a long neck and a squat nose and her husband, Vernon Dursley, was tomato-faced and had a moustache that quivered every time he spoke. Even their son, Dudley, was distressingly hideous with his overweight body and piggy, watery blue eyes.

Now, it's not to say that they were that horrible outside (which they were) or that they were that horrible inside (which they really are), it was just the fact that they were ugly inside AND outside that caused them to be looked up to by their fellow witchly neighbours.

Which brings an important thing to be noted:

Witches in that village valued ugliness. Whichever ugly they could get—warts on their faces and bodies, long noses, yellow and black decaying teeth—that was completely attractive to them. Anything smooth, clear, 'beautiful', or pure—they absolutely loathed.

One boy in their village wholly fit into that latter category and his name was Harry Potter.

Harry Potter was taken in by the Dursleys, nine years prior, as an act of 'vengeance' (which wasn't really). They had told their neighbours that they had taken Harry in as revenge for what Petunia's younger sister had done to her years before. The neighbours had only nodded, seemingly impressed with this extremely terrible act. In reality, the Dursleys had found him on their doorstep and had no choice but to take him in. The real reason they took him in was the letter they found with Harry. It informed them that if they refused to take him in, they would be cursed with beauty and riches beyond their wildest dreams. Least to say, that scared the Dursley family shitless and caused them to take poor Harry in.

Speaking of Harry, his first few years were relatively uneventful (eating mashed up bananas and carrots, throwing spaghetti at his cousin every Thursday—you know, the childhood usual). It wasn't until a month ago that Petunia decided he was too 'kind' and did something that they both would never forget.

As Harry scrambled out of his Uncle Vernon's carriage and watched them literally abandon him by his lonesome, Harry could still remember that day quite clearly…

* * *

"_**BOY**!"_

Heavy footsteps clomped onto the door of the small basement that served as his room.

With a start, Harry woke up and blearily looked up into a peering eye. He recognised it as his Aunt Petunia's. Working his dry mouth and throat, Harry answered, "Yes, Auntie?"

There was a loud, exaggerated sigh.

"Don't 'Auntie' me, boy! Stop being so polite and get your slow body up here to make us some breakfast!" Petunia then stomped away, grumbling loudly about how difficult he was by being too nice all the time.

Harry, as a child, knew that if he didn't follow what the adults said, he would be cursed or worse yet _beaten;_ so with haste, he made his bed and climbed out of the basement. He almost tripped on the creaking floorboard that disliked him very much (everything seemed to dislike him really) and robotically went through his daily routine.

Scramble three large eggs, fry the sausages and bacon while scrambling eggs, make some tea and bake the bread and keep it warm. He had done this since he was five and learned to use the stool (in order to reach the top of the stove, you see).

When everything was good and done, he set the table and placed the food there while taking the smallest piece of bread and one sausage. Harry was never allowed to eat at the table.

He then rang the cowbell that was placed next to the doorway. It was used as a signal whenever meals were done being cooked. If Harry had to be honest, they had a good working ethics here. If he didn't get in the Dursley's way, they didn't bother him all too much—which was fine and dandy for him!

Dudley, as usual, was the first to saunter (wobble) in. Harry was worried about how much his cousin ate, but he could never say a thing lest he be hit for being 'too concerned for other people's welfare'. Apparently, being worried was just too nice and unacceptable, so he kept most of his comments to himself.

"This food sucks," the fat boy commented as he took a large chunk of the scrambled eggs into his mouth. That was, again, a normal comment which basically translated into: 'I like your food, thank you very much for cooking it.' Or that's what Harry would like to think.

Five minutes later, his aunt and uncle finally came into the dining room and sank into their respective places, each taking three strips of bacon and placing them onto their plates. It wasn't until midway into their meal that Petunia said, "I believe we should send Harry to that Gentle school, Hogwarts Academy, somewhere down in Scotland."

The room became eerily silent, with Harry, Dudley and Vernon only staring open-mouthed and slack jawed at Petunia. Then steam literally pumped out of Vernon's rapidly reddening ears, making a whistling noise akin to a train whistle.

"**_WHAT_**?!" The man exploded, the hairs on his moustache terrifying almost everyone around him. Dudley cowered behind his empty plate and Harry gulped and quivered from where he stood.

But Petunia wasn't cowed. She gave her husband a flat look and primly put her fork down. "Darling most rotten," Petunia said in a sweet-syrupy tone. "Look at Harry. Tell me if you think he belongs here. If _any _part of him belongs here."

Vernon did just that, beady black eyes glowering at Harry.

The hair on the back of Harry's neck stood on end during the scrutiny. He wondered what his Uncle saw. His messy black hair? The dirt on his face that he forgot to wash off because he was in a hurry to make breakfast? He didn't stop wondering until Vernon looked away, snorting.

"You're right, Pet," the man admitted, heaving a large sigh. "Maybe we should send this good-for-nothing to that Gentle school. Only place where people like him belong."

"Gentle school?" asked Dudley, peeking out from the plate he used to hide behind.

"Yes, Duddykins," said Petunia, sending Dudley a yellow-toothed smile. "That's where unwanted boys and girls from this village are sent to and never seen again."

Harry shivered at the unbidden images popping into his mind, of children being burned during recess and their intestines being sprayed everywhere before lunch. It wasn't a pretty sight, at least in his overactive imagination.

Green eyes widening even more, Harry pleadingly stared at his aunt. "Err, Aunt Petunia, don't I get a say in this? Please tell me I get a say in this?"

Petunia only gave him a deadpanned look. "No, you don't, you bumbling nincompoop. You'll be sent there at eleven anyway, with or without our consent. I'll just send you earlier. I don't think there'd be _too _much of a problem."

And Petunia was right. There weren't any problems getting his transferee papers from the local witchcraft school. The only real problem was waiting for the bus that came by the village every five months.

* * *

So this was why Harry currently waiting in front of the beaten down bus terminal two miles away from Privet Village. It was the day that the Knight bus came to take him away from his horrid relatives and his equally horrid village. However, Harry knew that even if it took him away to that 'Gentle' school, no one would care there if he was beaten, bullied, or worse yet: _dead_.

Harry sighed and shifted on his feet.

He was doomed.

As soon as this thought occurred in his head, a large, triple decked bus appeared from the throng of trees, rolling onto the dirt-beaten pathway. Harry watched as it leisurely came to a stop in front of him, the double glass doors magically opening up.

"Hullo there!" a man with large ears (the girls in his village would find him very attractive) bellowed. "M'name is Stan Shunpike and I'm proud to be your conductor today! Don't worry about paying a single knut, this bus is paid by the Board of Governors and the Committee of Public Transport!"

The driver grunted towards Harry, which Harry felt was very condescending. Maybe the old man meant that Stan was the _only _conductor and that he should be worried about his welfare?

"Well? Come on in!"

Regardless of his train of thought, Harry was ushered into the bus by Stan, who gave him a wide grin and a wink. The jolly conductor seated Harry at a front seat and told him with a whisper, "Ern doesn't like to talk much, but that's okay. I do enough talking for the both of us." He then left Harry to begin an excitatory one-sided conversation with aforementioned bus driver.

Thankfully alone and without Stan (who Harry felt was a chatterbox), Harry curiously took the time to look around. He noticed that there were no other people on the bus except him. He assumed that it was probably quite an unproductive day for Stan and Ern, hence the warm greeting from them both.

Suddenly, Ern stepped on the gas pedal and began driving.

With an almighty jerk and a loud squawk of surprise from Harry (he had hit the back of his head on the top of his seat), the bus started to drive off path, through trees and bushes and—did they just fly over a river? Harry wasn't too sure, but he felt his stomach turning around in his belly. It didn't feel quite normal, thank you very much.

Stan appeared unflustered and even went about walking around the aisles when he noticed Ern not listening to him.

Stan eventually sat next to a green-looking Harry, who seemed to be having a hard time keeping whatever small breakfast he had.

"Oy, you there," he said to Harry.

Harry had his eyes closed so he wouldn't see the bus spinning. He slowly turned to where Stan was and politely said, "Yes sir?"

"What's your name, ey? I haven't caught it yet," replied Stan, reaching over to pat Harry's back. It only caused Harry to gag and place a hand over his mouth.

"It's Harry, sir. Harry Potter," he said through gritted teeth. Opening his eyes, he saw Stan's inquisitive gaze.

"Why is a nine year old like you on the Knight bus, if you don't mind me saying?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know, really. My Aunt and Uncle decided that I should go to that Gentle school in Scotland early. I'm only nine but my relatives told me that the school only accepts eleven year olds."

Stan hummed and nodded. "Aye, that's true. I went to that school meself, ten years back. Was a good school, it was."

Harry had a hard time believing that Stan had ever _been _to school, much less _graduated_ from one, but Harry wisely kept his mouth shut. He listened as Stan continued to prattle on:

"They do only accept eleven year olds, but methinks you'll be accepted. You'll probably be a special case of some sort. Who knows, maybe some nice old couple will adopt you?"

"Adopt me?" Harry asked, eyebrows lifting. He had a difficult time believing anyone would adopt him, or actually _want_ him.

"Yeah, din'cha know? Hogwarts is a special place for special witches and wizards. Only the elite go there," said Stan, puffing his chest out proudly.

"Then why do they call it the Gentle school?" asked Harry, deadpanned. "My relatives spoke of it as if it was a horrible place."

Stan scratched his goatee. "Perhaps it's 'cos you came from Privet village, the only traditional witch village left. Everyone's become more modern, but those stiff-uppity elders of yours want nothing to do with modernization. Not that I blame them. At least they keep the Old Ways around."

Harry quickly grew bored of Stan, and kept his mouth closed for the rest of the trip, sometimes listening to Stan and other times completely ignoring the conductor. It wasn't as if Stan noticed.

They eventually reached a stop in front of gigantic iron gates that had vines growing all over it. Harry peered out of the window and noticed that it was evening.

"Well," Stan said, lifting his hat off his head. "It was nice meetin' ya, Harry. But this is your stop. Tell Dumbledore I said hi."

"Dumble-wah?" asked Harry, as Stan not-so-gently shoved him off the bus. Ern raised his hand up, giving a small wave of goodbye to Harry.

"Dumbledore," the conductor corrected him with a saucy wink. "Now, just walk up this path and you'll find your school. Take care, Harry!" With that, the bus winked out of space. Or Ern drove it off-path. Harry didn't know.

So steeling himself for his inevitable homelessness (meaning he'd be turned away for being too young), Harry pushed passed the iron gates and made his way up the cobblestone pathway.

Right towards his doom.

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**A/N: I should seriously consider writing more. But I won't. Because there'll be a time skip after this. :D I wrote this story in time for Halloween XD Hope you guys like the Halloween theme! If anyone would like to beta/be a friend and kick me in the ass to update often, i wouldn't mind! xD i'm super friendly! -waves-**


	2. Chapter 1: Interesting

**A/N: THANK YOU FOR YOUR REVIEWS! They keep me alive. ;-; And I love you all for the support and even to that Spanish review I didn't understand! Grazie! Dankeschon! **

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**Chapter One: Interesting**

Harry sat with his legs wide open, hiding a yawn behind his hand every few seconds. He was currently in his last and final year at Hogwarts and while it wasn't what he imagined it to be when he was nine (a torture house), it wasn't something he'd admit to really missing. Sure the Headmaster Dumbledore was nice, but that didn't mean he liked the old fart. There was just something fishy about his half-moon spectacles, twinkly blue eyes, and did he mention the garishly orange and green robes? Ugh. Now that was seriously fishy.

So there he sat at the second to last carriage in Hogwarts Express, bored, tired (he was a live-in student during the summers at the Leaky Cauldron and worked for his lodging), and somewhat apprehensive of the single major subject everyone in their seventh year took:

_Marriage and the Rites._

Harry suppressed a sigh. This class was actually just a way for other witches and wizards to mingle with each other and perhaps find someone they were compatible with. If Harry had to be honest, he hardly found anyone in Hogwarts attractive, much less around the same intellectual capacity as he was…

Oh, there was that Draco Malfoy stint he went through third and fifth year, but Malfoy was much too nice (always calling Harry names like halfblood, pothead, and other sweet nicknames). Strangely enough, the other boy would later feel sorry for his abusive words_—_which was, _really-? Honestly?__—_dumb_.__  
_

To be perfectly frank, Harry actually liked it when the Malfoy heir spoke out and lashed at him with passionate words or verbally abusive threats_—_and _then _send him letters of apology that carried Harry's favourite brand of chocolates. It was a vicious cycle, but Harry thoroughly enjoyed it.

And how Malfoy knew his favourite brand of chocolates was a mystery, due to it being muggle-made. Harry had to shake his head and admit that Malfoy was way too sweet for him, though, if only the other boy would speak to Harry every day as meanly as he did during their arguments…

...Maybe then they would've worked out as the good friends Harry meant them to be?

Harry sighed forlornly and thought a little more realistically.

Nah. They wouldn't have worked out. They had way too many differences (blood status, money, magical capabilities, and the most important thing—_attitudes_: whereas he was pretty laidback, Malfoy threw fits if anything wasn't '_just to his liking'_).

Harry pushed thoughts of his failed friendship with the Malfoy heir away, then recalled the next person he _almost _considered friend material.

And that was Cedric Diggory from Hufflepuff.

Harry, into his fourth year, had just embarked on his journey to find himself (and boy, what a mistake that was), and had decided to test the waters with Cedric Diggory. However, Harry soon found out that Diggory was even 'nicer' than Malfoy. His upperclassman was constantly carrying Harry's book bag, always forever eating with him during breaks, and taking up all of Harry's free time and even spending most of his weekends in Harry's dorm.

With Harry.

Doing absolutely nothing except talking and holding each other.

Honestly! The clinginess and sweetness killed Harry. It appalled him so much that he avoided Diggory after the boy decided they should do much more than holding hands_—_friends held hands, right? Right-?

Harry certainly hoped they did.

At any case, what Diggory wanted to do was to kiss.

And Harry did not do kissing.

Seriously.

Him plus kissing equalled…well, utter chaos-! Besides, he only considered Diggory a_ friend_ and not anything more or less, so why should he and Harry kiss?

Thus the avoidance tactic.

...Harry was very glad that Cedric graduated last year.

Last but not least was that Ravenclaw bloke, Anthony Goldstein, from the year before.

They had lasted quite a while, though not as long as his on and off friendship with Malfoy. However, just recalling Anthony and remembering the grievances Goldstein gave him, made Harry's right eye tick. And there were many grievances, mind you.

Now Goldstein was super intelligent and quirky (that appealed to Harry because Goldstein would sometimes mutter to himself when he was thinking too hard, or would have a crooked smile whenever he was caught doing something he shouldn't).

But…he was…

Just _way _too polite and courtly! That Anthony was always pulling out chairs for Harry, giving him gifts that made no sense whatsoever (why would anyone give him an enchanted flower that would never die? Did he look like a woman?) and give him lingering kisses on the cheek whenever they parted!

Although Harry had to admit, Goldstein was a mile better than his previous blond predecessors because one, he gave Harry all the free time he could ever want and two, he bribed Harry with bags of assorted chocolate.

But really, groping his ass every time they hugged and _then _apologising for his lecherous ways? What were these men, bipolar or something? Either you do something bad and not apologise for it, or you don't do anything bad and have nothing to apologise for.

Honestly, Goldstein gave him the hardest time compared to the other two blonds. Even though the single incident when Cedric walked in while he showered was _close _enough to the summation of everything that Anthony Goldstein did. _Almost _but not quite_._

In fact, now that Harry thought about it, why were all these blonds interested in him for more than friendship anyway? He wasn't a catch. He wasn't particularly handsome or had a prestigious name to back him up.

Actually…

This reminded him of what happened during the summer holidays. He had gone to Gringotts to request an Inheritance and Family tree be done (because he was curious and he wanted to know where he came from) and as soon as he had uttered those words, the goblin attending to him laughed/spat in his face. What great service! He never felt more welcomed!

When asking the goblin if it was a possibility he had any relations the goblin had scoffed and said, 'You? A Potter? Part of the main branch of the most prestigious and pureblooded Potter family? In your dreams, wizard!' That goblin soon ate its words when it saw the results for the Inheritance test and Family tree.

Apparently, Harry was not only part of the main and mostly deceased Potter branch but also directly descended from Ignotus Peverell! Hah! Even if the part of the family tree where his mother and father were had the words: '**deceased**' in bold, it was okay for him because now he found out where he was descended from! Thank Merlin it hadn't been from anyone residing in Privet village!

Harry grimaced at that disgusting thought.

But as Harry left Gringotts that day, he ultimately just shrugged off the goblin, Rangook's, many apologies and the gift baskets he received in the mail every other day.

He hated those Merlin-awful gift baskets with the expensive, smelly cheeses and ham. Rangook even sent him a box of expensive Cuban cigars—really, what was he going to do with _Cuban cigars_? He ended up giving them to Tom the Innkeeper as the man's birthday present.

Honestly though, at least Harry was now part of a family—a mostly deceased family with his only living relatives as the Blacks—but that was okay! He was completely grateful that he was _only_ distantly related to a powerful Dark family! It could've been way worse (like he came from a consanguineous relationship or something, eww).

Though it still brought him back to his earlier point:

Why would anyone be interested in him?

At a loss to why anyone would be interested in his worthless self (asides from the vast fortune he had), Harry shrugged. Maybe this was why he found it difficult to connect to all his previous blond friends who were too nice and kind to him, even though the three louts were anything but.

"Excuse me," a deep, velvety voice called out from the hall, snapping him out of his depressing train of thought. The door opened and in appeared one of the most remarkable people Harry had ever seen.

This man—no creature, Harry quickly corrected himself—had slits for nostrils, a lipless mouth, a smooth but bald head, ivory skin that never saw the touch of daylight—and red eyes? Harry was hard pressed not to call the creature albino.

"Hello?" the creature asked, red-eyed stare hardening at Harry's surprised expression.

Harry immediately schooled his features. Best not scare this potential friend away.

Harry cleared his throat.

"Uh, yes? Is there something you needed, sir?" he answered back with a smile.

"Is there a seat available here?" the man asked, his face now lacking any expression whatsoever. Harry was more than a little intrigued.

"Yes, there is, sir," Harry replied, brightening at the prospect of spending an entire train ride with this mysterious stranger. "You're more than welcome to stay here," he added, gesturing to the obviously empty seats nearby.

The man nodded in thanks and sat at the seat farthest away from Harry, placing his trunk underneath his feet and completely ignoring Harry.

This peeved Harry to a certain degree, but maybe he came out a little too strongly? Perhaps it would be better to tone his interest down a little?

From the corner of his eyes, Harry observed the stranger and couldn't help but feel completely enthralled with this creature. He was just so…

"Beautiful," Harry whispered, and unknowingly reached a hand out to trace the person's jaw. It was quickly slapped away by the stranger, the man's red eyes burning furiously into his green.

"You can see under my glamour?" the man hissed, baring his teeth (which looked like fangs to Harry) out. Again, Harry was fascinated, though he controlled himself and sat back onto his seat.

Harry heaved a breath and ignored the fuming man for a moment.

He wondered why was he so interested in this stranger, then thought back to his upbringing in Privet Village and compared the stranger's unique facial structure to the standards he grew up with. Perhaps it was because of that? However, in spite of everything, Harry still wanted to know why the stranger hid his true visage.

So he asked:

"Why hide under a glamour, sir, if you don't mind me asking? I find you very fascinating to look at." Harry couldn't help but let his eyes wander over the man's tall frame, "In fact, I find you absolutely riveting and…"

"Beautiful," the man deadpanned, and Harry knew that if the man had eyebrows, they would've been furrowed in deep thought by now.

Harry nodded and the man stared at him quizzically.

"Has anyone ever told you that your behaviour is quite peculiar?" the man asked, dodging Harry's query.

Harry snorted. "If I had a galleon every time someone told that to me, I'd be the richest person in England. But enough about me—what's your name? I'm Harry Potter. It's been a pleasure to meet you, though you haven't answered my question." He reached out a hand for the stranger to shake.

The man gripped his hand firmly and shook it, saying,

"And though I have not answered your previous question, I shall bequeath you with the answer to your next: I am Tom Riddle, Dumbledore's adopted son and your soon-to-be Marriage and the Rites professor."

"I believe this will be a _very _good year, then, as I've heard the previous professor was a bit lacking in intelligence," Harry responded, placing a hand onto Tom's knee. His lips widened as he saw this caused a shudder to run down the older man's spine.

"Perhaps," Tom answered stiffly, drawing away from Harry with suspicious eyes.

Making himself comfortable, Harry gave his would-be professor an innocent smile and gazed out the window. Schemes of getting Tom interested in him brewed in his mind, and inwardly, Harry laughed at his earlier thoughts. He definitely found someone interesting now.

Harry cast a quick glance at the man and it was returned with a dirty look.

He chuckled and stared out of the window once more, knowing when to push and when to fall back. Everyone had their own threshold and apparently, Tom Riddle was already at his.

Oh, this was going to be one of the most beautiful cat and mouse games ever, Harry thought with a grin.

The stakes were high, but Harry had no plans of losing whatsoever. He actually looked forward to whatever challenge Tom Riddle would give him.

And he would not take 'no' for an answer.

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**A/N: So. I'm trying to update and make it quality not quantity haha. I hope you like it ^_^ I'm just introducing the characters and the plot. It will be fairly linear and there will be maybe a total of five chapters? :D Ohohoho! Can you believe it? Evil!Scheming!Harry? xD**


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